


With a Fall

by lurkdusoleil



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Glee
Genre: Action/Adventure, Glee Crossover, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Kurt/Blaine Reverse Bang 2014, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurkdusoleil/pseuds/lurkdusoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt, a sellsword, is hired to escort a nobleman and his betrothed back home in the midst of a bloody uprising--if he can get them there without losing them to brigands, politics, or his own troubling heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Red Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Kinks: graphic violence, serious injury/death involving an eyeball, barebacking, some angst, closeted!Blaine, homophobia as tradition, if there's a warning for ASoIaF it applies here

Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne makes Kurt uneasy. He would much rather wield a sword than sit on a melted lump of them, and that seems to be the main difference between him and these Westerosi. He has been quietly at court for three days, and all the conversations he’s eavesdropped were about power, one way or another. He, a Lysene by his father, cannot understand it. In Lys, it’s about pleasure and coin, not about whose family is harken to whom. And it’s certainly got more comfortable chairs.

Alas, he’s here for coin and not for pleasure, else he’d have long since left. And even now, he considers it, for his employer had received him through a servant and simply told him to _blend in and wait_. He’d been fed and clothed and given a room, and Kurt considers that payment for his presence thus far. But his patience wears thin.

The court is something to behold, though, especially from his place along the colonnade, removed and above the rabble. For rich though their clothes may be, and noble be their names, it is a rabble, for they thirst for blood more readily than any Dothraki horde. Their methods are simply more sophisticated.

Except for the Mad King, who earns his title. Ragged, wrinkled old man with lank hair and clawed fingernails. He’s a disgrace to the Targaryen name--to all of humanity, really. Kurt had arrived on the heels of Prince Rhaegar leaving, and a pity he missed that. The prince is said to be outstandingly handsome. But Kurt will have to settle for whatever the court has to offer for the pleasure of gazing, and perhaps even a quick tryst. Surely some of these Westerosi fellows are amenable to male company.

He’s staring at a particularly pretty young man in a purple doublet when someone sidles up to him.

“Good evening, my dear friend,” says an unctuous voice in his ear. “How are you enjoying the spectacle of court?”

“It depends on which part of the spectacle I’m looking at,” Kurt replies. He turns, and a plump bald man smiles at him. “You would be Lord Varys.”

“Oh, indeed,” says Varys. “I’m pleased you accepted my offer of employment. I’m sure my price is acceptable?”

“That depends.” Kurt looks down at the man, calculating him. It doesn’t work; he can guess almost nothing about the man that might not be a lie. “You haven’t told me what the job is, yet.”

“I must beg your pardon. But that information is delicate, and best handled in private. No doubt we’ll be able to speak soon. Are your accommodations to your liking?”

“Are you expecting me to complain?” Kurt asks. “I’m warm and fed, and there are plenty of distractions available.”

“Yes, I see you have your eye on one,” Varys says, looking down at the crowd. “A handsome boy, isn’t he? I happen to know that he would be grateful for your attention. A Dornishman, you see. Much more _available_ than some of these Northerners.”

Kurt glances back down to the man he’d been eyeing. Yes, handsome indeed--dark of hair, olive skin. Kurt would not have pegged him for a Dornishman; his clothes are obviously worn to blend in with the northern part of the kingdom, perhaps following the Princess Elia’s example. She and her handmaidens, pretty things all, have been wearing classic Westerosi garb, Andal garb. Dornishmen usually wore clothes that had a Rhoynish flavor, due to the blend of those cultures in the deep south of the continent from whence they hailed. But this man is in a doublet and breeches like any other courtier from Westeros.

Whatever his story could be, Kurt is immensely curious. A southern noble of no particular import, clearly alone at court, dressed in unfamiliar clothing and looking particularly tempting as the new summer heat curled his hair out of the stylish pomade he wore in it.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kurt says, letting his eyes draw away slowly. But he has no desire to speak anything but business with Varys; anything else would be dangerous. The Spider collects secrets like flies, and Kurt has no intention of letting his be desiccated by this man’s greed. “When shall we meet?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Varys says. “I’ll find you when the timing is right.”

Kurt turns to look at him, but Varys is already walking away, silks swishing about him as he takes his delicate, mincing steps. And so Kurt returns to staring at the Dornishman, letting his mind wander.

\--

The right timing is that night, an hour after the mid-night watch. Kurt’s door opens and closes with barely a whisper of movement, and Kurt has his dagger out of his boot before his inked feather even falls to the desk.

Varys lowers his hood and smiles with apparently amusement at Kurt’s reaction.

“My, my, we are cautious, aren’t we,” he says, folding his hands into his sleeves. “Good. You’ll need to be.”

Kurt stands from his chair and lowers the dagger, but he doesn’t sheath it. “And why is that?”

“I have a mission for you,” Varys says. “Do you remember the Dornishman from this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to escort him back to Dorne.” Varys pulls a pouch from his sleeve and tosses it. Kurt catches it, and almost drops it in surprise at how heavy it is. “Be discreet, be quick, be safe, and there will be a bonus waiting for you upon your return to Lys.”

“Why am I doing this?”

“It’s about to become very dangerous in the capital,” Varys says. “I admit I had hoped events would delay a little longer, for I had other business with you, but it seems we have run out of time. Perhaps when you are safely back to Essos, I will send a bird to sing in your ear, but for now--take the gold and jewels, they are worth quite a fortune. And escort our southern friend back to the south.”

“Who is he? Why is he important?”

Varys smiles a small, secret smile. “He is Blaine of House Dalt. He is here at his father’s behest to woo and marry one Rachel of House Dayne, seeing as his brother refused the duty. She is a lady in waiting to our dear Princess Elia. I believe their betrothal was approved by both families some four or five days prior--perhaps you will find him visiting her quarters.”

“Am I to leave now?” Kurt asks, surprised.

“Oh yes,” Varys replies. “Time is of the essence. Before long the Keep will be in total chaos, and you must leave before you’re noticed. Take the stairs to the east wing, and Lady Rachel’s quarters are around the first corner, two doors in. Blaine should be leaving very soon to return to his rooms. When you have him, proceed to the kitchens, and you’ll meet one of my birds. From there, you will be on your own. I suggest taking the Roseroad, and quickly. There will be enemies close behind you.”

He turns and opens the door, slipping halfway out before he turns back and gives Kurt a softer look.

“You know, you remind me quite strongly of your mother,” he says. And then he slides into the shadows, and the door clicks shut behind him.

Kurt acts. He sheds the clothing Varys had provided and pulls on his travel garb, black clothing that’s easy to move in, easy to fight in. He slips the pouch into his tunic and ties it there before doing up his padded doublet.

How had Varys known his mother?

Belt on, sword in sheath, knife in boot, all dressed, Kurt marches out of his room, sweeping back his hair subconsciously. Up the stairs, to the east wing, and around the first corner, he wonders--did Varys know his mother in Essos? He couldn’t be older than she would be now, had she lived, unless he indeed possesses the witchcraft he is said to. Kurt doesn’t believe a word--he’s seen plenty of magic, but he’s seen what’s behind it, as well, and he’s not impressed. If Varys is older than he looks, he uses creams and diet to achieve it, not sorcery--but what does it matter? Perhaps he’d seen a painting, or perhaps--

Perhaps he’d best do his job.

Varys was right about the timing. Kurt rounds the corner, and there he is--small, slender, dressed in deep purple finery with a yellow lemon in the center of his chest. A beacon, in terms of stealth. Kurt allows himself a moment to roll his eyes before he approaches.

“Blaine, of House Dalt?”

Blaine stops dead and blinks up at him, startled. His eyes are--really, very pretty. Wide and dark, golden, like good honeyed ale. Unexpectedly, he’s well done up--clothes straight, hair tamed. Kurt had expected him to be disheveled, with the rumors of Dornish passion and a new betrothal to this man’s name, emerging from his wife-to-be’s chambers alone. But he appears simply surprised, as though happened upon at any time.

“Yes?”

“I’m here to escort you home,” Kurt says quietly. “I’ve been ordered to take you out of the city--”

“What do you mean?” Blaine asks, crossing his arms. “I can’t _leave_. Who are you?”

“Who I am won’t matter if you’re dead,” Kurt says, urgent but careful. This man is pretty, but Kurt has no idea if he can be trusted. “The city will be much more dangerous before the night is done, and I’ve been hired to take you back home--”

“A sellsword?” Blaine asks. And then he scoffs. “How can I trust you?”

Kurt unbuttons the top of his doublet with one hand. Blaine watches with wide eyes, focused on Kurt’s hand as he fumbles and pulls the pouch from his tunic.

“I’ve been paid,” he says. “When you get home, I receive plenty more.” He stuffs the pouch back and does up his clothes again. “Now. We need to leave.”

“Blaine?”

Rachel’s door is open, and Rachel herself is standing halfway into the hallway. She’s a handsome girl, slight and delicate, a dark beauty. She spares not a glance for Kurt--she stares intently at Blaine.

“My love,” Blaine says, rushing back and taking one of her hands in his own. “Don’t worry. Go back inside.”

“Who is that man?”

“I’m saving your beloved’s life,” Kurt snaps, out of patience. “Now come on, before we’re found.”

“Saving his life?” she asks, addressing Kurt before turning back to Blaine. “What is going on, Blaine, who is that--”

“He’s a sellsword,” Blaine says, holding up his hands placatingly as Rachel stares him down, hands on her hips. “He was hired to take me home. He’s talking about some kind of danger--”

“If you’re in danger, Blaine, we should go,” Rachel says. “Just let me get ready.”

“But what if--”

Rachel is back in her room, though, and Blaine’s eyes widen before he turns sharply away and returns to Kurt.

“Look, are you--are you kidnapping us?” Blaine asks. “You won’t get a ransom, I assure you. You’ll get my father’s guards, and her father’s as well, and the Dornish army if necessary--”

“The Dornish Army is currently aiding Prince Rhaegar in the rebellion,” Kurt says simply. He’s heard a lot at court, and by the look on Blaine’s face, so has he. “But if I were going to kidnap you, I’d have done it already and been done with it, not stand here like a fool waiting for your woman to hurry up--”

“I am my own woman,” Rachel calls out, walking back to them. She’s dressed in her own travel clothes, blue and yellow breeches and bodice and tunic and cloak, heavy black boots on her feet. It’s not the most practical of clothing, made more for prettiness than utility, but it works--though Kurt is concerned about the color, though it is certainly less ostentatious than Blaine’s own. “And I am coming with you. If there is danger to my betrothed, then the danger is to me as well, and I will not have him face it alone.”

Blaine turns and looks at Rachel, surprised. “Thank you, Rachel.”

Rachel smiles and leans up to kiss him on his cheek. “My dearest friend. My future husband. Of course.” She looks him up and down. “We’ll need to go to your rooms to dress you appropriately--”

“There is no time.” Kurt glares the two of them down, Varys’s warnings to leave as quickly as possible ringing in his mind. “We’ll kit him out in something better when we are away. We’ll make do til then. Come on, we’re bound for the kitchens.”

Kurt motions them along, and at least they are quick as well as small. They make it down the steps almost faster than Kurt goes himself, rushing through the halls. Kurt is glad they know the way--he’s only partially sure himself.

Soon enough, they’re making their way through the massive kitchens. Kurt keeps an eye out, but he doesn’t see the little boy that ends up standing before them, grinning widely and holding out a hand.

Kurt glares, but Rachel instantly has a coin out and pressed into his hand. “Here you are, sweet child.”

The boy nods, and then points behind them. Kurt turns, and there are two leather knapsacks. Kurt takes one and hands the other to Blaine, rooting through his. It’s mostly dried fruits, cheeses, bread, a few changes of clothes, and some small coinage. There are three torches, as well, and even some small flint papers that Kurt has seen magicians use to summons flame in an instant. That will be useful, as will be two water skins hanging on the sides, and thankfully Blaine’s pack appears to have much the same. Double the supplies.

“Let’s get somewhere safe, and you can change your clothes,” Kurt says to Blaine, looking again with disdain at his purple and yellow clothing. Gods, he even has a purple cloak, and his breeches are a dark yellow, the man is a _fop_. He doesn’t even carry a weapon. “Come on.”

They escape the kitchens down a narrow hallway, lit by dim torches on one side and grates to a higher floor on the other. Kurt passes them one by one by one until they reach the end, and then--

He hears screaming.

“Stay down,” Kurt says, motioning back to his charges, and steps up on the lip of the wall, pushing his face right up to the grate and peering out at the upper floor.

There are feet, mostly, but he’s almost directly beneath the dais of the throne room. The Iron Throne is in sight, and the Mad King is standing before it, screaming.

“ _They’ll burn! They’ll burn for this--”_

A pair of familiar feet step right in front of the grate, and Kurt jumps down and whirls, taking Blaine and Rachel each by the arm.

“We have to leave, _now_ ,” he says. They’re both pale and shaky, but they keep up as he drags them down the next corridor, heading as quickly as he can to what he hopes is an exit.

 


	2. The Rose Road

They make it out of the castle and the city through the frantic bustle, and to the North, the horizon burns bright in the night.

“Something is coming,” Kurt says. His companions are ashen, for panic was behind them throughout the capital. Blaine holds Rachel’s hand tightly, smiling reassuringly at her.

“Let’s get on the road and somewhere quiet,” he suggests. He looks back at Kurt. “I can change then, can’t I? Get into something less noticeable.”

“That would be best,” Kurt replies. He reaches into his pack and pulls out a torch and a flint paper, unwrapping the pitchy head of the torch from some waxed parchment and sliding the flint paper sharply between his fingers so that it ignites. He drops it onto the torch and then holds it away from himself while it lights. “Let’s go, before others get word of what’s coming and decide to flee as well.”

“That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?” Rachel asks, as they turn to take the southernmost road. “Fleeing.”

“Yes,” Kurt says, holding the torch high to light the road before them. “But would you rather be back there, burning before the Mad King?” Neither Blaine nor Rachel answer, but the nervous glance they both give the torch is enough. “Swallow whatever pride you may have. The road will be difficult and likely dangerous, and we won’t be staying at comfortable inns or calling on your fellow nobles. We’ll travel as smallfolk. Can’t have every brigand on the road looking to claim you as hostages.”

“Aren’t we your hostages?” Rachel demands. “And who are you? You never told us.”

Kurt glances over. “My name is Kurt. And you’re free to leave. Blaine is my charge, and I’ve been paid to ensure his safety. I wasn’t paid to protect you.”

“But will you?” Blaine asks, grabbing Kurt’s arm and halting him, turning Kurt to face him. “Rachel has decided that it is her duty to accompany me now. Will you extend your protection to her? I assure you I will offer you payment as soon as I’ve returned to Lemonwood, and her father would likely add his payment for thanks as well.”

Kurt looks frankly into Blaine’s wide, pleading eyes, and finds he has no inclination to refuse the man his request. _It’s good money_ , Kurt tells himself. _I can always use more_. “Very well,” he says aloud. “I’ll name my price when the journey is over. Surely the price will get higher as we go.”

“I beg your pardon--”

“Our guardian was joking,” Blaine says quickly. “Weren’t you, ser?”

“I’m not a _ser_ ,” Kurt says. “But yes, it was in jest.” He and Blaine share a small smile, clear between them that his jest was not far from the truth. But Kurt realizes it’s not wise to appear too familiar with either of his charges, so he turns back to the road. “Let’s go.”

\--

They reach the river, Blackwater Rush, and cross its bridge with a toss of coins to a man standing careful guard over it, before they halt to assume their roles as peasants.

“What else can we do?” Rachel asks, as Blaine steps aside to remove his ornate doublet and bright breeches, replacing them with the rougher, darker clothing from his pack. “Should we dirty ourselves?”

“Don’t bother,” Kurt says. “We’ll be sleeping on the road tonight. You’ll be dirty enough by morning to pass, even with your rich clothes.”

“I--got them secondhand,” Rachel suggests. “Some lady in the castle threw them away because they were out of style, and I took them rather than waste serviceable clothing?”

“Don’t bother to offer anyone explanations,” Kurt says. “You’ll only seem more suspicious.”

Blaine returns. He’s still wearing his own boots and cloak, but he’s in brown breeches and a thick, dark green tunic.

“I’m not giving this up,” Blaine says, tugging at his cloak. “I’ll need it for warmth. But shall this do?”

Kurt looks Blaine up and down slowly, from his slender legs to his wide shoulders, before finding his face again. And the man is _blushing_. Oh, and Varys’s suggestion that Blaine would be grateful for his attention was close to the mark, it seems. Kurt smirks.

“You look far too handsome for a peasant,” he says. “But I’ll ensure you’re looking rougher by morning.”

Blaine’s eyes go wide at the innuendo, but he doesn’t make any attempt to either respond to or retreat from it. He appears frozen by it.

“Are we camping nearby?” Rachel asks, apparently oblivious.

“We’ll camp near the entrance to the Rose Road,” Kurt says, keeping his eyes deliberately on Blaine, who now won’t meet his eye. “At the fork ahead. We’ll turn off and find a nice cozy patch of grass to lay our cloaks.”

The fork of the road isn’t too far along. Three quarters of an hour later, they arrive, and Rachel collapses down onto a dead log, groaning.

“How much farther?” she asks. “It’s so late, and we’ve been walking for hours. My feet feel like wood.”

“We just need to step off the road and clear some space, and gather firewood,” Kurt says. “Unless you’d prefer to sleep and take a watch in utter darkness.”

“Take a watch?” Rachel asks. “What do you mean, take a watch?”

“I cannot stay up the whole night, my lady,” Kurt says, sneering the title. “You’re playing the role of a peasant--you’re going to have to act like one. That means _less complaining_.”

“I can take Rachel’s watch,” Blaine says, and Kurt could have expected that. Of course he’d spare his _betrothed_ any toil whatsoever, even at their expense.

“No,” Kurt says. “She’ll take her own. If you take hers as well as your own, you’ll be too tired to make the journey tomorrow, and we’ve a lot of ground to cover. But so it suits you noble folk, I will take the mid watch. Then you both can get an uninterrupted sleep. Blaine, are you awake enough to take the first watch?”

“Yes,” Blaine says. “Uh--should I have your sword?”

Kurt glares at him.

“You’ll have a dagger,” he says, plucking it from his boot and offering it hilt-first. “If you suspect _anything_ , you are to wake me and I’ll take care of it. Just don’t go jumping at rabbits in the brush. Wake me when you tire. I’ll take watch until just before dawn, and Lady Rachel can watch until we wake.”

Kurt turns to Rachel and stares her down in the dying light of his torch. “And you can stay here and clear an area for us to lie in. Move away any stray brush, clear out as many rocks as you can from the sleeping area and pile them in a circle to surround the fire. Blaine and I will be gathering wood within earshot, so if anything happens, scream.”

Kurt looks to Blaine, nods in the direction of the woods, and hands the torch to Rachel, trusting in the moonlight to give them enough light to gather wood by.

“I have to insist that you be more respectful to Lady Rachel,” Blaine says, when they’re away and picking up fallen, dry branches and brush side by side. “This was not an easy choice for her, and the road will be harder on her than on either of us.”

“If she doesn’t halt her incessant blather, I will have to disagree.”

Blaine stands up straight and faces Kurt. “Perhaps where you’re from, everyone is well hardened and quiet, but I’d be inclined to doubt the latter, as you’ve complained almost as much about Rachel as Rachel has about the road.”

Kurt stiffens and glares at Blaine. “Perhaps I’m just not accustomed to spoiled, uptight Westerosi nobles.”

Blaine’s eyes search Kurt’s face in the cool grey light of the moon dabbling through the leaves. “You’re not Westerosi, then.”

“I’m from Lys,” Kurt says. “My father is a master shipwright there.”

“And you became a sellsword.”

“I’m talented with a blade,” Kurt says. “I’m talented with many blades.” Blaine chokes, coughing, cursing, and Kurt laughs. “Did I just scandalize a Dornishman? Out of all you Andals I would have believed the Dornish to be least appalled by our beastly Lysean ways.” He laughs again, cradling his bundle wood close to his chest.

“I assure you, I am only appalled by your manners,” Blaine says, and Kurt laughs again.

“And I assure you, my manners are the least of your worries,” he says. “Why would someone like Varys hire me to escort a couple of minor nobles who weren’t specifically in danger? What’s your secret?”

“I’ve never had anything to do with Lord Varys,” Blaine says. “Neither has Rachel.” He thinks for a moment. “Perhaps Varys is acting on behalf of Princess Elia, getting all her kinsmen out of the city, and we happened to be the first.”

“You forget I was only ordered to escort you,” Kurt says. “Are you...important, to Princess Elia?”

Blaine snorts at the implication. “No. And I doubt anyone else Varys would work for would have any reason to keep me alive.”

“Well, someone did,” Kurt says. “And it’s in Varys’s interest, for whatever reason. So be grateful, because otherwise you could be at the mercy of the Mad King’s wrath.”

Kurt expects a rejoinder, but Blaine noticeably freezes. He slowly turns to Kurt, stiff and tense. “That was--the Mad King was screaming, when we left.”

Kurt hefts the wood in his arms and turns, nodding back toward camp. “He was. But he’s not here, and we’ve our own problems to worry about now.”

“I have friends and kinsmen still at court.”

“And they’ll be fine,” Kurt says. “The king--the king will be handled, I’m sure. That’s what your councils are for, aren’t they?”

Blaine nods. “Their effectiveness has been...less, since the King’s previous Hand left. I can’t help but worry.”

“Then let your worry keep you alert while you watch,” Kurt says. They’re back to camp, and Rachel is sitting to the side of a little cleared area, curled up in her cloak. Kurt dumps his wood and sits, letting Blaine add to the pile and then picking through it for kindling first. He glances over at Rachel, her eyes huge and bright in the light of the torch stuck in the ground by her side. “Lady Rachel, are you all right?”

“You should probably not call me Lady,” she says. “If we’re peasants, now.” Kurt nods, but doesn’t say anything more. She sighs. “I do not mean to be a burden. I will do my best now to keep up and endure my hardships in silence.”

Blaine, sitting between her and Kurt, reaches over and takes her hand. Kurt lets out his own sigh and rolls his eyes as he turns to pile better wood over the kindling.

“If there is any unobtrusive way we can ease your comfort, say so,” Kurt says. “We can’t have you collapsing halfway through the journey.”

Rachel smiles, and she’s got a very pretty smile. “Oh, thank you, Kurt. I promise I’ll do my best--”

“Just--save your strength, Rachel,” Kurt suggests, and Rachel nods and mimes locking her lips together. There. Blaine can’t fault Kurt for _that_ , he--

He’s looking at Kurt. His eyes are wide, he’s got a grateful little smile on his face, and he looks--soft. Kurt turns away from it and pulls a flint paper from his bag.

“Now. Let’s see if we can get this fire going.”

\--

The night passes uneventfully, as does the road beyond it, and that night, and then the road and the night beyond that until they pass through Bitterbridge, crossing over the River Mander and continuing on their path.

“The next town we’ll come to is Highgarden,” Kurt says, on their slow but steady way. “Do either of you have any good relations with the masters of Highgarden?”

“The Tyrells,” Blaine says, pulling from his seemingly endless knowledge of noble houses. _House Caswell rules here_ , he’d said of the squat castle of Bitterbridge. _Rumor is they’ve never had much loyalty to Targaryens or their subjects, not since the first Blackfyre Rebellion. They won’t be likely to help us._ “They’ve been feuding with Dorne for generations. They won’t be likely to help us.”

No one is likely to help them. Kurt supposes they’ll have more luck of aid when they get to Dorne, but it’s annoying to have to spend his money on rations.

“Oh, but our lady is the Princess, she’ll be Queen, the Tyrells should at least know not to turn away her kin,” Rachel protests. “I think Lady Olenna is smarter than that.”

“I don’t want to risk it, Rachel,” Blaine says. “We still aren’t sure what the danger is.”

“Well, maybe we can find out.” Rachel smiles as though winning a victory. “At the very least we can pay a visit and say we’re just passing through and wish to give our regards to Lord Luthor and Lady Olenna. And besides, I heard Mace Tyrell is an outrageously handsome man, and I’d like to get a look.”

Blaine laughs along with her awkwardly. Kurt’s heard that Dornishmen are almost as ribald and free with their passions as Lyseans, and in Lys pleasure houses are the crowning glory of the city. But Blaine is unusually bashful around Rachel, and Kurt is curious about it.

It’s not secret, of course, that Blaine would much rather a male betrothed, and has no inclination to Rachel whatsoever. But does Blaine know that it’s not a secret?

“I’d like to see him as well,” Kurt says, “if he’s so handsome. Any rumors on his preferences, Rachel?”

Rachel laughs delightedly. “Oh, I’m sure he’d love to make your acquaintance, Kurt. The Tyrells are rather _well known_ for their dalliances.”

“Mace Tyrell will be at the field, Rachel,” Blaine says. “He’s leading the siege at Storm’s End. If he’s here, then who knows what the Baratheons might be up to.”

“Only Stannis,” Rachel says. “Such a dull man.”

“Well, he’s likely to be still holding there,” Blaine says again. “Mace and Stannis both. We’ll have to get by without his handsomeness.”

“A pity,” Rachel says, winking at Kurt, whom she has discovered is a better partner for her bantering, apparently. She has no such qualms as Blaine about her passions, and Kurt has overheard her more than once seeking Blaine’s comfort to no avail. “I would have liked to have met him. But yes, we should call in anyway. It’s only polite, and perhaps they can offer us some hospitality.”

Kurt turns to Blaine. “Are you in agreement?”

Blaine considers, and then nods uncertainly. “We might as well try. If there’s any news to be had, they’ll have the best of it. Then we can know how much danger we’re still in.”

Kurt hums, and continues on the road. They’re going to meet the Tyrells, it seems.

\--

They’re setting up camp for the night, still one day’s journey from Highgarden, when Kurt realizes what danger they really are in.

“You can’t camp here.”

Kurt stands and draws his sword immediately, facing the two rough-looking men still on the road. One of them lifts his hands up placatingly.

“No need for that, ser,” the man says. “Just noticing you lot look lost. You can’t camp on this stretch of road. No tellin’ what black sorts make their marks here. Unless you’re willing to pay a little protection--”

“We’ve all the protection we require,” Kurt says, holding his sword steady. “Be on your way or I’ll remove your eyes from your skulls.”

The man’s hands drop, and both he and his companion draw their own weapons. He has an axe; his companion pulls two daggers.

“Are you sure you want to tangle with us?” the man asks.

Kurt responds with his weapon. He goes for the man with the knives first, aiming to eliminate anything that can be thrown at him. He’s an untrained warrior, and goes down quickly--Kurt, with years of practice and training, doesn’t break a sweat with him, dropping his stance and slipping his sword up between the knives to skewer him through the throat.

The man with the axe is more of a danger, though. He’s tall, and he’s got better reach and more strength than Kurt. But Kurt is fast, and still better trained. They clash as soon as Kurt pulls his sword free from the first body, and Kurt has to tilt his wrist painfully to let the blow glance off instead of tearing right through his thin sword. The axe is heavy, and the vibrations run up his arm. But the man leaves himself wide open after he attacks and is slow to recover, and after a second blow that Kurt dodges, Kurt is able to bring his sword up and make good on his promise, stabbing the man through the eye.

His scream is appalling. Kurt lets him drop. The man, on his knees, goes over heavily when Kurt kicks him in the chest, and his screams die as Kurt drives the sword in further and stabs into his brain with a forceful thrust. When he pulls free, the man is dead, and missing an eye, which Kurt kicks to the side before kneeling to wipe his blade on the man’s clothes.

“Are you--”

Blaine is standing over the bodies. He looks ashen and shaken.

“Have you never seen a man die?” Kurt asks.

“No, I have, I just--” Blaine takes a deep breath, his hands flexing at his sides. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

Kurt nods, eyes narrowing. This isn’t a casual gratefulness that his protector is alive, Blaine looks as though his heart is in his _throat_ \--

“My goodness,” Rachel says. Then, she turns to the side and vomits. Blaine rushes over and pulls her hair back, patting her back as she heaves again.

“It is her first time,” Blaine says as Kurt approaches.

“Well, it might not be the last,” Kurt says carelessly. Realizing how callous that sounds, he clears his throat. “But it gets better, Rachel. If you ever have to see it again, you will know what is to come. You won’t be sick again.”

“I hope not,” she says, raspy, wiping her mouth. “By the Seven, I’ll be glad of a bath when we get to Highgarden.”

“And who will pay for that bath should the Tyrells turn us away?” Kurt asks pointedly, returning to the task of setting up camp, building up the campfire and kicking away brush as he goes. “You’d think I was paying _you_ for the honor of protecting you.”

“You’ll be paid tenfold when we get to Lemonwood,” Blaine says. “I assured you of that, and I’m a man of my word.”

“Very well,” Kurt says. “Then if you’re paying me ten times what the baths are worth, I’ll be sure to afford us the most lavish attention we can manage. I’ve heard there’s a pleasure house in Highgarden where--”

“Not a pleasure house,” Blaine says. “Rachel is a Lady, she shouldn’t be--”

“Oh, please, Blaine,” Rachel says. “If you can frequent pleasure houses, I can as well. I do know of your visits to Chataya’s.” She sits herself down as Kurt lights the fire, and glares up at Blaine before turning to Kurt. “I’d be happy to stay in a pleasure house, Kurt. Besides, we are playing at smallfolk, aren’t we? They don’t shy away from their needs.”

Blaine pauses, his lips pulled into his mouth, and then opened as though to speak. But he closes it, and then walks off into the woods.

Kurt stands, turns to Rachel, and raises an eyebrow.

“Go,” she says. “Gods know he won’t speak to me. The dead bodies will protect me, I’m sure--go.”

He nods. “Scream if you hear anything.” And he rushes after Blaine.

He finds him several yards away, just within earshot of a rush of water that Kurt notes for later. He only hopes he can hear Rachel over it should she need him.

“Blaine?”

“What must you think of me,” Blaine says, his back to Kurt. He’s standing hunched, his arms crossed before him. “I’m well aware of how I look.”

“How do you think you look?”

“Why don’t you tell me.”

“You’re ashamed of something,” Kurt says. “And I know what it is, even if Rachel doesn’t.”

“Of course you do,” Blaine says. “Everyone knows. And no one cares, except for my father. I am to marry, because my feckless brother won’t. But if I’m to marry Rachel and live with her and make her happy, as she deserves, she can’t know.”

“Do you think she’d be unhappy?” Kurt asks. “I’ve heard plenty of the Dornish--”

“And it’s true of some--perhaps in Sunspear, where the Martells are free with their sons,” Blaine says, “but not in Lemonwood. Not for the future Lord of Dalt. We’re not a noble house, we can’t afford to throw away good breeding stock.” Blaine makes a disgusted noise. “And I’m sure the Lord of Starfall would have something to say about it as well. I’m expected to abide by this marriage.”

“Because you’re a man of honor,” Kurt says, stepping closer.

Blaine falters, stammering before he finally says, breathless as Kurt draws near, “Yes.”

“But you’re not married yet.”

“No--no.”

Kurt stops just before Blaine, looking down at him. Gods, he’s beautiful. Dornish through and through--olive skin, wide honey eyes, curled dark hair, short and lithe, but his shoulders are a thing of legend. He’s powerful, though small. How much power--power enough to lift Kurt up, to hold him and fuck him--

He can’t deny his attraction any longer. He can’t push Blaine aside in his mind as a silly, jumped up noble. He’s been beautiful this whole time, and Kurt’s blood has rushed every time they’ve neared each other. He’s wanted Blaine since the moment he picked him out of the crowd at court--he stood out even then.

“Then you have nothing to honor,” Kurt says. He catches Blaine’s wrist with one hand. “You have time to live before you marry.”

“...yes.”

Kurt nods, smirking. Blaine leans in, and it would take just a little push--

“ _Kurt!_ ”

Kurt releases Blaine with only a flash of regret before turning and running back to Rachel. She meets him just outside the campgrounds.

“What, Rachel--”

“There are soldiers coming up the road.”

They’ve been seen, as well. They’re too close, and Kurt counts six of them--he can’t take on that many heavily armed and armored men on his own, not with two casualties waiting to happen. He pushes Rachel behind him, hears her caught by Blaine, and steps up, hailing the guards.

“No trouble here,” he calls. “We were set upon by brigands, but they are dead. Are you here for our assistance?”

“Listen to this one,” one says, turning to their leader, distinguished by nicer armor and weapons. “Do you fight as well as you talk, or did you set upon them from behind?”

“He speaks the truth,” Blaine calls out. “They set upon us. My friend here simply defended us.”

“A Dornishman!” the man spits. “Of course he’s a bloody Dornishman…”

“Are you Blaine of House Dalt, and Rachel of House Dayne?”

Kurt raises his sword. “Be on your way--”

“We are,” Blaine says. “And you’re men of House Tyrell, am I correct?”

Kurt looks down at their armor, covered with gilded roses. “We are,” the leader says. “I’ve been ordered to take you from the road and back to Highgarden.”

“Who gave these orders?” Blaine asks as a man rides forward as his leader’s signal, trotting two spare horses behind him.

“The Lady Olenna Tyrell wishes to see you safely to Highgarden. I’m sure she’ll explain there,” the leader says. The soldier with the horses tosses the reins down to Kurt, who catches them one-handed and smirks at the soldier, who spits down.

“Enough,” the leader says. “These people are Lady Olenna’s guests.” He turns back to Kurt. “We’ll see you safely to Highgarden, if you’ll come with us.”

Kurt sheaths his sword and turns to Blaine. “Do you trust this?”

“I do,” Blaine says, stepping forward, voice low. “She has no reason to trick us.”

“And Varys had no reason to save you,” Kurt reminds him. “It could be a trap.”

“What choice do we have?” Rachel asks. “We have to go.”

Kurt looks back to Blaine, who nods. He sighs. “Fine,” he says, holding the horses steady as Blaine climbs up onto the first and then reaches down for Rachel. Kurt boosts her up, and she sits astride behind Blaine, arms around his waist. Kurt turns away and mounts his own beast before turning to the guard uncertainly. He’s never liked horses, much--never had a use for them, living on an island for most of his life before he took up mercenary work, and preferring his own feet or sailing after that. But he knows how, at least; he knows enough not to make a fool of himself.

“Lead the way.”


	3. Highgarden

“Well, what are you standing around for. Come here.”

This is how Lady Olenna Redwyne, the Queen of Thorns, welcomes them. She’s a handsome woman, in her forties now, but aging well. She sits tall at her garden table, surrounded by lush shrubberies and hanging flowers. There are younger women scattering as they approach--Kurt supposes she dismissed them. And he finds Blaine beside him stiffening, as if he finds himself wanting to obey her order to approach just as quickly, but Kurt maintain a steady pace, and he knows this woman’s reputation for not suffering fools, so he shakes his head at Blaine, hoping he resists any urge to hurry.

“My lady,” Blaine says, bowing. Beside him, Kurt does the same, albeit less obsequiously, and Rachel curtsies on Blaine’s far side. “How good of you to invite us.”

“You mean how good of me to drag you off the road and reveal you for what you are,” Olenna says. “No matter. You’re here now. And looking rather worse for wear.”

“We were worse for wear before your men found us,” Kurt says. “Such is the road.”

“Indeed. Well. Are you going to tell me why you’re masquerading as peasants and in the company of a sellsword?”

Rachel steps forward. “My lady--our friend here was hired--”

“Hired by Varys, yes, I’ve heard,” Olenna says. “Rumor travels faster than you do, I’m afraid, especially when the news is brought with the news of a dead king.”

That news hits Blaine hard. The Mad King, dead? Is the war lost? Did the rebels--

“Don’t you worry yourselves about that for the moment,” Olenna continues. “That news won’t change anytime soon. How did two minor nobles from Dorne come to escape court at the behest of the kingdom’s master of spies? You’re not important in any ostensible way.”

Rachel balks. “Well, it was my betrothed Lord Varys wanted to protect--”

“The second son of a knightly house,” Olenna says dismissively. “I think there are more interesting people to protect. Don’t you?” Olenna looks right at Kurt. “Do you have anything to tell me? Remember you’re under my care and hospitality at the moment.”

“My lady, I simply take my payment and perform my task,” Kurt says. “I have taken my money, and I am performing my task. What do I care for Westerosi politics?”

“You’re from Essos, then?” Olenna asks. “Braavos?”

“Lys.”

“Interesting place. What did your father do?”

What is she getting at? “My father is a fisherman.”

“And your mother?”

“Dead.”

“Hm,” Olenna says. “Well, clearly none of you have any more idea than I have at what’s happening. But I’m a hospitable woman, and I’d like to be able to remind your fathers that I aided you should the opportunity arise.” She waves at someone behind them. “Bathe yourselves. I’ll have you put in some guest rooms and have food brought to you. Tomorrow, you can be on your way. Back to Dorne, I’m sure?”

“Starfall, my lady,” Blaine says. “From there I return to Lemonwood.”

“Of course you do. Well, go get clean. This is Highgarden, and ugly, smelly things aren’t welcome here. Haven’t you heard?”

She turns away, and they’re ushered away by a young lady in rather well-made servant’s garb.

The castle of Highgarden is all white, trellised with flowers of all sorts. It’s beautiful and airy, and the air is warm and sweet. Kurt rather enjoys it, and all the color around them. Everything is so _bright_.

“My lady,” the girl says, and she turns Rachel away while a man motions for Blaine and Kurt to follow.

They’re lead to an empty bathhouse filled with perfumed steam rising from the water of the single sunken bath, huge in the center of the room, surrounded by dark wood. There are shelves on the far side with various items, and a lit hearth with cauldrons of steaming water to the side. The servant closes the door behind them, leaving them alone.

Blaine looks over at Kurt. Kurt doesn’t at him--simply begins to strip, undoing the fastening on his doublet. Blaine turns away and removes his cloak, folding it and dropping it before pulling his tunic over his head.

Kurt drops his clothing in a pile and enters the water while Blaine finishes undressing. He can’t help noticing Blaine’s body as he finishes himself, stepping into the water after Kurt and settling on the far side of the bath. He finally looks up at Kurt.

“What now?” he asks.

Kurt can’t think of a single gods-damned thing he wants to say, so he crosses the bath and seizes Blaine’s face between his hands, pulling him into a deep kiss.

Blaine kisses him back just as deeply, arms winding around Kurt and hauling him closer. The water splashes around them, but Kurt couldn’t care less. His body is against Blaine’s, warm and hard and close, and Kurt has never been one to take for granted when he allows a man close to himself. There’s nothing quite like it, and with Blaine--sweet, handsome, noble Blaine, passionate but curbed from it--it’s like a release. Blaine releases all the pent up fire inside him, and Kurt has never feared fire.

“Wanted this,” Blaine says. “I saw you--in court, before we met--saw you and knew you were beautiful--”

Kurt groans as Blaine reaches down and cups him between his legs, mouthing at his jaw.

“Saw you,” Kurt gasps. “I saw you that day, I wanted you so badly--”

It’s Blaine’s turn to groan, and he pulls away reluctantly, turning to the shelves on the far side of the bath. “Need--”

Kurt comes up behind him and wraps an arm up around him, pushing his face back so Kurt can continue to kiss him. He snakes his other hand down and grips Blaine’s cock, stroking him slowly in the water, swallowing Blaine’s moans and letting him rock back against Kurt’s groan, ass snug against him.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Blaine?”

“Yes,” Blaine pants against Kurt’s mouth. “Yes, please--”

“Grab the oil,” Kurt says, glancing at the shelves. “To your left.”

He lets Blaine lean forward to grab the little glass pot, grinding against him as he does, accepting his eager kiss when he returns, pot in hand.

“Fuck me now,” Blaine says, breathless. “Please--”

“Ssh,” Kurt soothes. “Let me take care of you.”

He reaches down into the oiled water. It’s not enough for Blaine to take all of him, but he can slip a finger in, and he does, reaching behind and up. Blaine takes him stiffly at first, but with a few twists of his finger, he opens up, relaxing and bearing down and taking Kurt in to the second knuckle. Kurt adds a second, and thrusts them quickly.

Blaine jumps and spreads his legs, sinking down in Kurt’s arms. Kurt sucks marks at his collarbone and continues to pump his fingers as quickly as he can, loosening Blaine with every gasping moan he lets out, quavering with the jolt of Kurt’s fingers rapidly penetrating him.

“That’s right,” Kurt encourages. “Let me in.”

He thrusts hard, and Blaine opens up around him so beautifully, so eagerly. He takes Kurt in completely, two fingers swallowed up, and Kurt pulls them out, eager himself to continue.

“Yes,” Blaine says, pushing Kurt to the edge, up onto the step halfway out. Kurt steps up and rests back, sitting on the edge. His cock hangs heavy before him, and Blaine leans forward and wraps his mouth around it, bobbing down over Kurt with no warning. Kurt grasps his hair and throws his head back, gasping as Blaine sucks him.

“Give me the pot,” Kurt demands, and Blaine hands it over without retracting from Kurt’s cock. Kurt uncorks it and pours some into his hand, and then he pulls back and, as soon as Blaine’s mouth is off him, smears the oil over his cock. Blaine steps up and straddles over Kurt, who helps him up on his knees over Kurt’s hips.

“Ready for me?” Kurt asks, and Blaine nods, biting his lip as he sits back, positioning himself and sinking down over Kurt’s cock.

He moans so prettily, and Kurt grasps his hips and helps support him as he works himself down bit by bit, swiveling his hips in smooth little circles as he parts over Kurt, taking him in, down, down, down until he’s completely seated, completely full, mouth open, gasping in air he can hardly catch.

“It’s okay,” Kurt murmurs, kissing Blaine’s bottom lip, moving to his throat, drags of lips and tongue over his heated flesh. “Taking me so well. You feel incredible--”

He latches onto Blaine’s throat, kisses him there like he wants to kiss his mouth, but Blaine revels, relaxes into Kurt, and the breaths he pulls in are still too big, too much. He needs to _breathe_ , and Kurt is happy to focus his attention on the tendons of Blaine’s thick, stubbled neck while Blaine recovers and starts to move.

He’s hot and tight inside, and so warm against Kurt’s skin. His hips rock above him, moving separately from his torso, undulating and slapping down over Kurt’s hips with every drop. Kurt can’t speak for it, the little noises, the feeling of impact, the sensation of Blaine gripping tight around him.

“Wanted this for so long,” Blaine says. “Want this--want this always. Don’t want to give this up--”

“Don’t,” Kurt says. It’s a whim, a dangerous one, but one he feels deep in his stomach, in his core. His father once told him, _When you know, you know._ Kurt knows. “Don’t give it up. Come with me back to Lys.”

Blaine stills, gasping, eyes wide. “You know I can’t.”

“I know you have a brother,” Kurt says. “It’s his duty to marry Rachel, not yours. You are free by Westerosi law, aren’t you?”

“Unless my father names me heir--”

“Turn it down,” Kurt says. “Come with me to Lys.”

“How?” Blaine asks. “How--”

“Just come.” Kurt flips Blaine over, rolling him onto his back and over, their legs askew and dangling over the water as he starts to thrust. “Come with me.”

Blaine hitches his legs higher, wider, letting Kurt take him. “Yes--yes--”

Kurt kisses him hard and fucks him the same way, taking him as roughly as he dares, almost beyond his own control with the euphoria of Blaine’s acceptance, with the feel of his body tensing and clenching below him.

“Touch yourself,” Kurt says. “Let me see.”

Blaine sobs, reaches down and takes himself in hand. Within a dozen strokes he’s finished, shooting come up his chest, and Kurt pounds into him, chasing his own release.

“When we’re in Lys,” Blaine says, kissing Kurt’s jaw, “I want you to fuck me like this every day.”

Kurt feels the heat inside him crest, and he comes, grinding deep into Blaine through the release. When he’s spent, he slips free, smoothing Blaine’s sweaty curls back off his face.

“Come,” Kurt says. “Back to the bath now, hmm?”

Blaine laughs, and it’s music.

\--

They part with secret touches and furtive glances, risking nothing more with a servant ahead of them, leading them to their rooms.

“Fresh clothing will be available to you--take what you will,” the servant says. “My lord Blaine, this room is yours.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Blaine says to Kurt before he slips away, leaving Kurt alone with the servant, who simply stares.

“And my room?” he asks, meeting the servant’s gaze.

“Just here,” the servant says, nodding to the door across the hall from Blaine’s. _Good,_ Kurt thinks. _Easy to sneak across_. “I’m to wait while you dress--Lady Olenna wishes you to join her for supper.”

This gives Kurt reason to pause. “Me? Not Blaine?”

“No, my lord. You.”

“I’m not a lord,” Kurt says, somewhat irritably. “Fine. I’ll be brief.”

The room is airy and pleasant, like the rest of the palace, but Kurt doesn’t bother pausing to enjoy it. He opens the dressing cabinet and selects three pieces of the finery available--a white tunic, an emerald jerkin, and black breeches. He wears his own boots and takes his own belt to wear around his waist, but he still doesn’t quite look like himself when he glances in the mirror. These are far finer clothes than he’s used to, and he has to admit he quite likes the look of them. His taste for the finer things was a part of what led him to this life in the first place, of course--there’s coin in mercenary work, and Kurt needed coin that a fisherman’s life could not provide.

In any case, he looks like a lord, now. Ready to dine with one of the most wealthy and powerful nobles in the kingdom.

The servant leads him silently back to the gardens, though he guides him to a different area of them. A huge canopy of roses on the vine weave through an ornate metal dome, covering an opulent dining area lit brightly in the falling twilight.

“Come, sit,” Olenna calls. “Let’s not stand on ceremony here, I’ve no time for it.”

Kurt joins her at the table, sitting across from her. There’s a great deal of food laid out, far too much for two people, but they are the only two at the table.

“Go ahead, eat your fill,” Olenna says. “Enjoy it while you can, boy. The road won’t have such rich fare.”

“Why?” Kurt asks, ignoring the servant pouring wine and ignoring the food. “What do you want with me?”

“I simply wish to speak to you,” Olenna says, smirking. “Can’t an old woman enjoy the company of a handsome, virile young man?”

“You know very well that you won’t get _that_ sort of company out of me.”

“I do, but I can enjoy you all the same,” Olenna says. “I like you--you’re no fool, you get to the point. Admirable traits. But what else are you? Are you really just a sellsword?”

“As far as I am aware, my lady, that is all I am,” Kurt says. “The son of a fisherman who makes his coin at the tip of his blade. Do you expect me to be more?”

“Oh, I expect much from you,” Olenna says. “Now. Eat, and let me talk at you.”

“Very well,” Kurt says. He finally sips his wine, while Olenna watches closely. “Talk, then.”

“I will,” she says. Kurt starts to eat, and she leans forward. “Now, you say your mother is dead. I wonder--what was her name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“A Westerosi name,” Olenna says. “I suspected as much. I suspect much of this woman. Do you know what her house was?”

“No,” Kurt says, swallowing hard. What is she implying? “She said she gave it up to be with my father.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Olenna says. “Well, your mother--pale of hair, was she? And eyes like yours, I expect. Well, your mother dies young. And she takes with her the secret of her house. When did she die?”

“When I was eight,” Kurt says.

“And how long ago was that?”

“Sixteen years.”

“Interesting,” Olenna says. “You were born at an auspicious time, I would suspect. Two hundred and fifty six years since Aegon the Conquerer. That was an interesting year. And your mother found your father around that time, disappearing from Westeros?”

“That is where you are wrong,” Kurt says, and Olenna doesn’t look the least bit displeased. Rather the opposite, and what is she getting at? “My mother was born in Essos.”

“And she still had a Westerosi name and a Westerosi house,” Olenna says, and Kurt puts down his knives and sits forward in his chair.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Oh, I simply believe that you are far more than a mere fisherman’s son,” Olenna says. “But who knows. Your mother took her secrets to her grave, and we’ll never know the truth of it.”

“But you have a theory,” Kurt says. “Tell me. What about my mother is so fascinating to you?”

“There are many old family lines that have died out,” Olenna says. “It’s an interesting fate, to come across one of its scions.”

Scions? Kurt--a scion of some old Westerosi house?

“I am nothing more than what I am,” Kurt says stubbornly. “As you said, there is no one to tell this secret, and no way to know.”

“Of course,” Olenna says, much kindlier than she has been to this point. “Pardon an old lady’s curiosity. I have nothing but my gossip now, you see.”

Kurt knows this is very untrue. But Olenna turns to her food and waves at him to turn to his, so he eats his meal in silence and wonders.

\--

He does not go back to his own rooms. He instead enters Blaine’s room, quiet and quick.

“Kurt?”

Kurt turns from shutting the door, and Blaine is in bed, sheets around his naked torso, pooling as he sits up. Kurt smiles.

“May I join you?”

Blaine grins. “I’d--I’d like that.”

Kurt strips down, piece by piece. Jerkin is followed by shirt, is followed by pants, is followed by boots, on and on until he stands naked before his lover, who stares and stares and stares. With a grin, he approaches the bed, and kneels down onto the mattress as Blaine lifts the sheets for him.

“Come lie with me,” Blaine says, and Kurt obliges, sliding under the sheets and straddling Blaine’s hips.

“How was your supper?” Kurt asks, leaning in to kiss Blaine’s cheek and jaw, peppering them down in soft, light touches.

“It was fine,” Blaine says, breathing deeply. “Rachel and I--talked--”

“Mmm, did you?”

“Y-yes,” Blaine says. “But I can’t remember any of it with your mouth on me--”

Kurt kisses Blaine’s lips, pressing against them, parting them to slide his tongue between, pressing into Blaine’s own as it tentatively returns the attention. Blaine’s kisses remain hesitant, too gentle, until Kurt drops his hips, rubs his ass along Blaine’s groin, and then he livens, presses in, kisses Kurt with increasing passion and intent.

“Kurt,” he gasps, hands finding Kurt’s flanks, fingers digging in and helping him as he rocks over Blaine’s growing erection. “Oh, gods--”

“Did they provide oils in the rooms as well?” Kurt asks. “Or do I have to go to the baths--”

“No, they--they provided a full selection of unguents,” Blaine says. “There should be some kind of oil--”

Kurt swings his leg over and hops off the bed, heading to the vanity and selecting one of the pots lined up along the mirror. He opens it--the scent of almonds wafts up.

“Gods bless the Tyrells,” Kurt says, returning to the bed and straddling over Blaine again, pulling the sheet up over his head and dropping down to kiss Blaine beneath it, swallowing his giggles and balancing the pot so as not to spill.

“Kurt, please--”

“Do you want to be inside me?” Kurt asks, rising up. The sheet falls around his back and hips, and Kurt looks down to see Blaine’s cock standing hard alongside his own. “You can be.”

“Yes, please, Kurt--”

Kurt pours an ample amount of oil on their cocks, spreading it over both with long strokes of his hand before slipping an oiled finger back and rubbing it around his hole, slipping in the tip and spreading the oil just enough. Then, he rises up, holding Blaine’s cock steady as he shuffles forward enough to position it at his entrance.

“Oh gods--Kurt--”

The stretch is immense, just on the edge of burning, but Kurt sinks slowly and breathes, breathes, gaspingly breathes as he opens around Blaine’s girth. Blaine holds his hips and pants vocally, _ah ah ah_ , his hips tense between Kurt’s legs.

Finally he sinks completely, seating himself entirely, resting himself and letting himself feel the fullness. He enjoys this like he enjoys little else--the effort and exertion of taking a man’s cock; the raw, contained passion of the man beneath him; the thrill of trying to tease that passion into animation with only his own body as a tool. It’s exhilarating, satisfying, and with a man like Blaine, a man Kurt has felt for like no other...it’s fulfilling.

But the movement--ah, the movement is even more so. Kurt rides Blaine in earnest right from the start, pausing only when Blaine heaves up to sit upright and encircle Kurt in his arms, fingers scrabbling down Kurt’s back as they rock and writhe together, Kurt’s hands on Blaine’s shoulders to provide him better leverage.

“I’m coming with you,” Blaine says.

Kurt hesitates, unsure of what’s going on. Is Blaine going to come? “What?”

“I’m really coming with you to Lys,” Blaine says, brushing back Kurt’s sweaty hair from his forehead. “I can hardly believe it. I--I’ll only have to tell Rachel. And I will. I will end our betrothal and come with you to Lys.”

Kurt gasps as Blaine fucks up into him, just a slow, deep grind that spears him open so beautifully. He clings to Blaine’s shoulders, presses down, jerks his hips forward to angle himself, and Blaine’s cock presses inside him at the perfect angle. He throws his head back and moans, repeating the motion, again and again and again.

“Oh, gods you’re beautiful,” Blaine breathes, kissing Kurt’s throat. “The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Oh, _gods_ \--”

Blaine clutches him close, and Kurt, sensing his completion, takes himself in hand to catch up. He does so quickly, his own moans rising as Blaine cries out, coming deep inside him, grinding up just enough for Kurt to come moments later and sag into Blaine’s waiting arms.

“Kurt.”

“Mmm. What.”

“I liked you in that green jerkin.”

Kurt laughs, and throws them both down to the bed. “Don’t get used to it. Fine clothes don’t suit the road.”

“But fine clothes could suit a lord in Lys.”

Kurt scoffs. “A lord.” He considers, and smiles. “I think I’d like that, actually.”

Blaine laughs. “You could afford to be. Varys is paying you, and my father will as well. Rachel’s father, too, I’m sure, will send along his payments.”

Kurt smiles and pokes Blaine’s side. “But will your father really pay me when he finds out that I’m stealing away his youngest son to live in debauchery and vice across the Narrow Sea?”

“I don’t intend to tell him,” Blaine says. “I mean to ensure your payment is made and then steal away without a word.”

“No goodbyes?”

“My father has no use for me but to marry, and if I’m turning away the Lady Rachel, he’ll want nothing to do with me anyway,” Blaine says. “My brother--my brother I’ll leave a note. And for my mother.”

Kurt strokes Blaine’s belly with playful fingers, idling there. “You’ll like my father. He’s a good man. A strong man.”

“What about your mother?”

“Dead, long ago,” Kurt says. “Though apparently she knew Varys. And Olenna seems to have had quite a few questions about her as well, now that I’ve thought of it.” He looks up at Blaine. “What on earth do these Westerosi nobles really want with me?”

“I wish I knew,” Blaine says. “Olenna was pressing?”

“In a way, yes,” Kurt replies. “Wanted to know my mother’s name. Seemed interested in that it was Westerosi, though my mother was born in Essos.”

“Your mother was Westerosi?”

“As far as it went,” Kurt says. “She had a house. But she wouldn’t tell me what it was. Said it was best to forget.”

“And--what did she look like?” Blaine asks, suddenly very curious. Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“She was fair,” Kurt says. “Very beautiful. Pale hair, eyes like mine.”

Blaine tilts up Kurt’s chin and looks into his eyes. “Beautiful eyes, they are.”

“And of what interest are they?”

Blaine stares for a long moment, and then shrugs. “I can’t be sure.”

“Tell me!”

“I doubt I know anything, Kurt,” Blaine says. “If I ever become certain, I’ll let you know.” He silences any further protest with a kiss, and a heavy caress along Kurt’s thigh. “Now. Where did you put that oil?”


	4. The Rose Road Again

Kurt rides on the roof of the carriage Olenna provided them, along with a driver and two escorting soldiers, in her generosity. The interior of it is close, and Kurt does not want to be on hand for the discussion between Blaine and Rachel within. So he lets the road drown out the sounds of conversation and he lies back among their packs, letting the rocking of the carriage and the warmth of the sun lull him into a doze.

“Stop the carriage!”

He wakes with a start at the hard bang within, and the jolt of the carriage as it comes to a stop. He sits up and blinks heavily, and then shuffles back quickly as Rachel climbs up and stands over him.

“I knew,” she says. “I knew you would seduce him.”

“Rachel--”

“You couldn’t just let him be!” she cries. “You have all of Lys to find pretty boys for yourself. But you had to take the one well-standing noble I aimed to marry!”

“And you did not aim for his brother?”

“Well he was not the match our fathers made!” she says, stomping her foot. “He cavorts with whores and refuses to marry. So I was matched with Blaine, and he was mine. I wouldn’t have cared if he went to the brothels for boys. I would have turned a blind eye. But now all my advantage is gone, and I will be a mockery. All thanks to you.”

She hops down from the roof and storms away. The soldiers murmur in confusion and shrug amongst themselves, and the driver looks back.

“Should we go on, ser?”

“Wait,” Kurt says. He leans over the railing and the edge of the roof and peers into the carriage. “Blaine?”

“I’m working on it,” Blaine says, sliding out. “What do I say?”

“Could you convince your brother for her?” Kurt wonders. “I do feel badly for her, in some ways.”

“Cooper is intransigent,” Blaine says wearily. “But I’ll talk to her. See if she can be reasoned with.”

“We’ll be here,” Kurt says, smiling until Blaine turns away. “We’re waiting for a moment while Lord Blaine fetches the Lady Rachel,” he says louder, and the soldiers sigh and nod and grumble to themselves. Kurt doesn’t blame them--the Roseroad from Highgarden down to Oldtown isn’t terribly long, but it will still take them a couple of days and the road is tedious. Kurt isn’t looking forward to it himself, though riding on the roof of the carriage is far more pleasant than riding a horse.

He does hope Rachel will see sense soon, though. It’s not comfortable for anyone, sitting here.

“Kurt?”

Kurt glances down. Rachel has returned, while Blaine stands a distance away. Kurt nods, and waits as Rachel climbs up and stands over Kurt again.

“His father will never let it happen,” she says. “You should know that before you force him to accompany you. You should know that his father will forbid it, and he’ll be ordered to marry me anyway.”

“And why is Cooper not ordered to marry you?” Kurt asks. “He’s the eldest.”

Rachel folds her arms over her chest, the very picture of indignance. “I suspect Lord Dalt wishes him to find an even better match than me. As if he could find one, with the way he behaves.”

“But you’d have him, if he’d consent?”

“Of course,” she says, flippant. “I’m not looking for a love match, Kurt. I’m looking for a good, stable marriage that affords me status. That is the only way for a woman to get ahead in this world.”

“You don’t have to live in this world,” Kurt says. “We could take you as well.”

“I think I’d prefer to live here, where I know I will have any status, thank you,” Rachel says. “You know as well as I that even in Essos, women are women and men are men. I do not wish to make my way in a brothel or a--a Dothraki horde. That’s not my destiny.”

“Very well. But what is Blaine’s? Shouldn’t he get to decide?”

“He will,” Rachel says. “He’ll decide to stay. What can you offer him in Lys, hm? You’re a sellsword. You will never stay in one place, you’ll never give him any security.”

“Who says he wants or needs any of that?” Kurt demands. “We don’t get to decide, Rachel. He does.”

“Watch,” she says. “Blaine is a sensible man. Hopefully he’ll come around before he wastes anymore of his time on you.”

She climbs back down, and Kurt is left with that to chew on as Blaine approaches, gives him a half-hearted smile, and climbs into the carriage with her.

With her. Not up with him.

As the driver and soldiers get a nod from him to go, as they continue on the road, as he lies back on the packs again, he’s left with that. It’s not likely anything of meaning, but so soon after Rachel’s words--he’ll come around--wasting his time--it rankles, and Kurt feels the sick shade of doubt beginning to cloak him.

How would Blaine be best off? Kurt’s of the opinion that every person should hold their own fate, that they should have a say. He knows that’s not how the Westerosi do it, but he does. If Blaine wants to come with him, he should be able to. But what if he wants to stay here with Rachel instead? What if he wants to fulfill his familial duties to wed and breed and make more duties for himself? Kurt would like to say he can’t begrudge Blaine that, but the fact is that he can, and he feels it preemptively in himself even now.

Blaine might not choose to go with him. And the idea of that makes Kurt’s heart feel like a stone in his chest, puts bile in his throat. He cares for Blaine, he wants Blaine with him. He’s never known anyone like him. He’s never felt this way before. And he doesn’t want to watch a man he wants so badly go off with this snobbish woman who seems perfectly content to lord herself over him.

She is a lord over you, a treacherous voice reminds him. She’s a noble like you’ll never be.

And Kurt can’t escape from it. They are speaking quietly below, just a low susurration of voices, no words discernible. And could Kurt even hear them? Could he bear it?

What if Blaine is deciding to stay, even now? He’s a man of honor, after all. And leaving with Kurt is most certainly not the honorable thing to do.

\--

It’s evening by the time Blaine joins Kurt on the roof.

“Hello,” Blaine says, half a whisper. “Rachel finally fell asleep.”

“And you couldn’t come up before she slept?”

Blaine grimaces. “I thought--I thought to be kind to her. I am leaving her, after all. Company until that happens seemed...a small matter.”

Kurt feels instantly ashamed. “No. I don’t mean to scold you. Of course you’re being kind.”

“I’m sorry, I--”

“Don’t apologize,” Kurt says, opening his arms to Blaine, who gratefully sinks into them, burying his head at Kurt’s collarbone. They lay there, half-reclining in the cooling air, for long moments before Kurt sighs. “You are--the most compassionate man I have ever known.”

Blaine hums, smiles up at Kurt. Kurt cannot resist, and would never dare--he leans down and kisses Blaine contentedly.

“I would’ve joined you sooner, though,” Blaine says, after a breath. “I wished to be with you. But--”

“I understand,” Kurt says. “You’re so kind--”

“Be stopping tonight, sers,” one of the soldiers calls. “Honeyholt, up ahead.”

“What arrangements have been made?” Blaine calls back, sitting up and straightening himself as Kurt does the same.

“None,” the second soldier replies. “We’ll find a tavern. Lady Olenna has provided funds and instructions for four rooms.”

“I’m staying with you tonight,” Blaine whispers, and then he hops down from the roof and climbs into the carriage again.

Kurt smiles. The journey into Honeyholt, and to Oldtown beyond, seems much kinder in its coming.

But Kurt is still left with much to wonder about. There is still the chance that Blaine will change his mind before Oldtown and the parting of ways. And there is a chance that he will not stay once he learns what Kurt’s life is like. It’s not the life of a courtier--even should he have enough money from Varys and the lords of Lemonwood and Starfall to make his own house and live in comfort, what would he do? He’s not an idler, he wants to do something with himself.

Would Blaine live the life of a sellsword? It’s an exciting life, a life full of opportunity and danger. Would he want to live it, survive it? Or could Kurt live as a rich man, idle and luxurious? Is there an in between for them?

Perhaps he can test it.

\--

“Where are we going, Kurt--”

“Just over here--”

“Kurt, this is the woods--”

“Blaine, just follow me,” Kurt says, and pulls Blaine along.

He’s got a lantern, and he’s borrowed one of the soldier’s swords for Blaine to use, and he has his own. Now all he needs is to be beyond the sight of the little town outside the walls of the keep, far enough away that they won’t be interrupted. Kurt means to speak with Blaine when they reach their destination, a little grove Kurt had spotted from the road, and he means to test Blaine’s mettle.

“Kurt, I don’t understand--”

“Here,” Kurt says. “We’re stopping here.”

It’s open enough, between the wide trunks of the trees. They have a canopy overhead, which covers the last vestiges of sunlight sinking beyond the keep to the west. It’s cool, the air buzzing with insects, but not where they are. No, it’s clear and dark here, but the lantern lights up enough when Kurt hangs it from a branch.

“We’re going to test your swordplay,” Kurt says. “I can’t promise you an idle life in Lys, Blaine, not with the enemies I’ve made. I can’t promise you safety--”

“You don’t need to, Kurt,” Blaine says. “Though I doubt we’d ever have need. I could help you invest your money--”

“The time will come for that,” Kurt says. “I may take you up on it. But for now, I need to know that you won’t be defenseless. So.” He holds out the spare sword, offering it hilt-first. “Show me.”

Blaine hefts the sword, testing its weight and adjusting its grip and his stance. It’s a good sign that he knows enough to do that, at least. And he holds himself well. But Kurt can instantly see several holes in his defenses.

“No,” he says. “Here.” He walks up and shifts Blaine’s shoulders, pushes one hip, settles him into a more even, weighted stance before he bends Blaine’s knees a touch more to balance his weight. “Feel that? Your weight needs to be able to move, but you can’t be knocked over. Hold your weight on your back leg to attack, your front leg to evade, watch--”

Kurt takes up his own stance and draws his sword. He settles his weight onto his back leg. “Now--watch as I attack, and notice how you must shift to back away.”

He goes slowly, shifting his weight forward to lunge into attack. Blaine follows its flow, bringing up his sword to catch Kurt’s thrust. He doesn’t seem comfortable with Kurt’s style--Kurt uses a rapier, after all, an advanced weapon. But he has the basics.

“Better,” Kurt says. “Use the weight of your sword against mine. I have a disadvantage with this light blade.”

“Hardly,” Blaine says. “You’re quicker, you can skewer me anytime I want.”

“Unless you know how to evade,” Kurt says. “It’ll help you even more if you know how to evade even the quickest weapon, anyone else will never be able to touch you. Let’s go again, quicker this time--”

The exchange blows for at least an hour, each time Kurt shifting something or commenting on how Blaine can improve, and by the end they are sweating and exchanging blows well. Blaine is a decent swordsman, small and light on his feet, but Kurt is far superior by sheer fact of experience, so he takes it easily enough. By the end, Blaine is winded and Kurt is just barely tiring.

“That’s enough for tonight, I think,” Kurt says, smirking as he sheathes his sword. “We still have road ahead of us, and we shouldn’t tire you too much.”

The moment his sword is safely covered, Kurt finds himself attacked again--but not with sword. Blaine, sweaty panting Blaine, throws himself at Kurt, pulling Kurt in and kissing him fervently, tumbling them both heavily to the ground.

“Oof!” Kurt grunts, as Blaine lands over him, but he hasn’t space to spare a breath before Blaine is on him again, tongue thrusting into his mouth, suckling on his lips and nipping at him, kissing wildly.

Kurt accepts it. Blaine is hot and heavy above him, solid and strong and he smells so distinctly of man, of glistening muscles revealed in the shed of Blaine’s tunic and the dusting of hair over his chest, in the musk of his body and the curl of his hair and the sheen of his skin, he is in all things male and Kurt could never imagine a life without this, a life putting this aside. It’s everything beautiful to him, and sweet, honorable, kind Blaine is all of it.

Kurt will fight to his last breath for this man.

“Promise me you’re coming with me,” Kurt gasps, as Blaine removes his clothes as well, tangling them up into a heap with sleeves half-removed and breeches barely off their legs before their naked bodies crash together, thrusting and rocking and clutching at any bare skin that can be reached. “Promise me you won’t change your mind.”

“Never,” Blaine promises. “Follow you anywhere--”

They kiss again, open and deep from their mouths to their hearts to their bodies, pulling closer and closer until it’s just pressure and desperation between them, cocks trapped by sweating bellies and pleasure dragging slow up and out and over them. The perfect fit of two together.

Kurt won’t give this up. Not for any danger or price. He’ll fight for this.

 


	5. Oldtown

The great lighthouse of Hightower in Oldtown is intimidating up close. Kurt tries not to crane his neck to look up too often, but it’s an impressive sight--it’s the greatest lighthouse he’s ever seen, and the sprawl of urban life around can’t detract from it.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” Rachel is peeking her head up over the roof of the carriage, and at Kurt’s lack of response she shrugs and pulls herself up. “We should talk.”

“What have you to say?” Kurt asks simply.

“Look, there’s naught either of us can do now as far as Blaine is concerned,” she says. “He’s got his choice. He has to make it.”

 _He’s choosing me,_ Kurt thinks. _He said so. He’s choosing me._

“And I think it’s best if we both leave him be,” Rachel says. “And each other, as well. I don’t want to part on bad terms with you, Kurt. You saved my life.”

“You were the one who put it in danger in the first place,” Kurt points out.

“So I owe you that much more a debt,” Rachel insists. “And I’ll pay it. Though...I don’t suppose you’ll be coming to Starfall with us?”

“Why do you suppose that?” Kurt asks.

“There are ships to Lys,” she replies. “Don’t you want to go home?”

“I want to get paid for my trouble,” Kurt says.

Rachel sighs. “It will complicate things either way. I wish one of us did not need to be hurt over this.”

“I wish that as well, Rachel,” Kurt says. “But it seems one must be. However, one has further prospect here where the other does not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you have plenty of noble lords to satisfy your social climbing,” Kurt says, on the edge of snapping at her. “There is only one Blaine. He is what I want, not his _titles_ , not his reputation. I only want him. What do you want, Rachel?”

She stares at him, eyes and mouth open, and then takes a breath. “I don’t suppose I’ve thought of it that way.”

“No. You haven’t.”

The carriage halts, and one of the soldiers calls for them down then. Kurt waits for Rachel to hop down, and then follows her away as Blaine exits the carriage.

“Are we here?”

“We’re arrived at Oldtown, ser,” one of the soldiers says. “This is as far as we take you. There are ships at port for Starfall, or anywhere else you might go. This inn is reputable, and should take care of you.”

“Thank you, good sers,” Rachel says graciously, taking each of their hands, lingering on the second soldier with a wide smile. “Please convey our thanks back to Lady Olenna for her generosity and kindness.”

Kurt turns away from this and to Blaine. “She spent the night with him, didn’t she?”

“I’m not sure,” Blaine whispers back. “That would make things easier, wouldn’t it?”

Kurt shrugs, and Rachel turns back as the men make their way along. “Shall we get rooms?”

She looks expectantly at Kurt, who sighs. “Yes, I suppose,” he says. “Come on.”

\--

That evening, Kurt sits next to Rachel at a table in the tavern, drinking good ale, belly full of the inn’s meal of roast meat and stew and good, fresh bread with hard cheese. He feels replete, and even _happy_ as he watches Blaine converse with a traveling minstrel and try out his lute.

“He’s special,” Rachel says.

“He is,” Kurt replies, as Blaine starts playing the lute and singing a tune for the inn’s patrons, to much interest and delight around the warm room. He looks happy and beautiful, sitting on a stool by the fire, plucking at the strings, singing with his mellow, captivating voice a tale of a bear and a maiden.

“Do you blame me, for wanting him as a husband?” Rachel asks. “Yes, so much of it is status, but--he’s my friend.”

“He’s more than my friend,” Kurt replies, and it feels like he’s pouring honesty out of himself like wine from a cask, just spilling it out onto the floor. “He’s everything.”

Rachel sighs. “I know. That’s why I won’t interfere. I can’t. I’m going to make a bid for his brother again.”

“He still has a choice,” Kurt says, a bit adamant. “He hasn’t made it.”

“Yes he has,” Rachel says softly, and with a touch to his forearm, she rises and joins Blaine by the fire, adding her voice to his song. She has a lovely voice. Blaine smiles up at her, and she smiles down, and she places a hand on Blaine’s shoulder and they harmonize to generous applause.

They make a lovely couple.

Kurt drains his ale, and then rises and threads his way through the crowd, heading out the back door of the inn into the dark streets. By the light of the great lighthouse of Hightower, he makes his way through the dark, winding, close streets, and finds his way to docks.

“You,” Kurt says, to a dockworker sipping at a flask. “I need to find ships.”

“To where,” the man says, eyeing Kurt closely. His eyes settle on Kurt’s sword, and his hand gently resting on the hilt, and stop their line there.

“One to Lys, and one to Starfall.”

“This one’s going to Starfall,” the man says, nodding back at the ship down the dock from where they stand. “Another, next port over as well, might suit you better. It’s got silks on board.”

“And Lys?”

The man shrugs and spits on the ground. “Do I look like a fucking Lysean?”

Kurt moves away without another word, heading to the silk ship to Starfall. There, he manages to find a dock worker who calls over his captain.

“What do you want?” the man asks, hurried rather than simply rude, at least.

“Passage to Starfall, for two passengers,” Kurt says. “What will that cost me?”

The man eyes him. “Five. We sail at dawn.”

“Done,” Kurt says, handing over one coin. “A couple of Dornish will be here in the morning, before the light. They’ll have the rest of your payment.”

The man nods. “Be sure they are. Or we leave without them.”

Kurt nods. “Any ships to Lys?”

“My employer has a ship going to Lys in two days’ time,” the captain says, more at ease now that Kurt has proven to be a source of income rather than of trouble. “He’s staying at the Blue Wheel, down the thoroughfare. Braavosi named Trent.”

“I’ll seek him out,” Kurt says. “Thank you.”

The captain nods, and Kurt turns away. He has another inn to find.”

\--

Two hours later, he returns to his own inn and finds the liveliness of Blaine and Rachel’s performance dimmed. His companions are nowhere in sight, so he makes his way to the stairs and up to the rooms.

Rachel and Blaine are talking in one room when he peeks in, and they look up and both smile when he enters.

“I’ll be going,” Rachel says, slipping past Kurt with a pat on his arm. Kurt blinks, and stares at Blaine.

“Where did you get to?” Blaine asks, standing and taking Kurt’s hands in his own.

“I bought passage,” Kurt says. “Two ships.”

“Two?”

“I’m going back to Lys in two days,” Kurt says. “There’s passage aboard that ship with me if you want.”

“Kurt--”

“Or you can go with Rachel,” Kurt continues. “To Starfall. That one leaves at first light.”

Blaine takes a deep breath. “So soon.”

“Did you want to wait?”

Blaine smiles, and touches Kurt’s face. “No. I don’t want to do anything that I have to do now.”

There it is. “You choose her.”

“I choose you,” Blaine says. “But I can’t go with you to Lys just like that. I have to take Rachel home.”

“So you leave with her tomorrow,” Kurt says. “What then?”

“Then...I go back to Lemonwood,” Blaine says. “I’ll tell my father of the debt he owes one Kurt Hummel, sellsword from Lys. And then...I make my way to Sunspear, and there board a ship for Lys, where I will seek you out.”

Kurt pulls Blaine into his embrace. “So you’re really coming to Lys.”

“Yes,” Blaine whispers. “I’m coming to Lys. I just--I have a duty, Kurt--”

“You and your honor,” Kurt says. He kisses Blaine swiftly, holding him close. “You’re lucky I love you for it.”

Blaine laughs, a small, squeaking sound, and then kisses Kurt again. “And I love you for your honesty. Among other things.”

“One more night together,” Kurt says, holding Blaine’s face between his hands and staring into his eyes. Can he bear to let this man go? “Then...it will be long months.”

“I will make my way as swiftly as possible,” Blaine promises. “As soon as I am able, I will be in Lys, seeking you out. Will you wait for me?”

“Let me come with you to Starfall and Lemonwood,” Kurt suggests, giving in to the temptation. “I will accompany you.”

“No,” Blaine says. “I can’t--I can’t drag you through this, Kurt, and it would complicate so many things. You must go on without me. Will you wait?”

This time, Kurt can only give one answer. “Always,” he says, and then words fail.

They make love, hushed and gentle, slick fingers and tongues and grasping hands and spread thighs, Kurt opening himself up for Blaine and then letting him in, letting him press Kurt into the mattress and take him apart. Kurt allows it, surrenders himself to it, and with clasped hands and urging hips Blaine fucks him with reverent eyes upon him, whispered promises in the dark that do not fade, even when they part, even when they come together again and again, not a wink of sleep between them as they drink their fill before the coming drought.

In the darkest hour before the sun starts to rise, Kurt turns to Blaine and buries his face in his neck. “I love you.”

Blaine kisses Kurt’s forehead. “I’m coming back to you, my love. I promise.”

Kurt clutches him tight, and then lets him go. Blaine rises, and dresses, and then returns for one final kiss.

“Soon,” he says.

“Soon,” Kurt echoes, and then he is gone.


	6. Lys

Three months home, and Kurt still has horrible dreams of his three weeks at sea with no one at his side. Shades in his nightmares convince him that Blaine has fallen overboard, or is chasing the ship but cannot catch up, or his ship has foundered and Kurt cannot save him. His father hears his weeping, Kurt is sure, but thank all the gods that he hasn’t mentioned anything. Burt knows his son’s pride, his aching solitude.

Kurt has been helping with the fishing business lately, unwilling to make a new home with the ample fortune that had awaited him upon his return. Not until--not unless--

He had been urged, of course. There had been a letter, addressed to _My lord Blackfyre_ \--Kurt wonders if Varys knows for sure, or if he’s just guessing. Either way, Kurt does not take the name--he is his father’s son, not some Westerosi noble. He simply takes the money, safeguards it. He may need it one day, he may not--he uses a small portion to give his father some comfort and that is that.

“Been someone in town,” Burt says one morning, as Kurt sits and patches some holes in his father’s nets. “Asking after you.”

“I’m not for hire right now,” Kurt mutters, only half paying attention while he focuses on his work.

“Not looking for a sellsword,” Burt says. “Looking for _you_.”

Kurt looks up, finally, and sees the smile on Burt’s face.

“Who was it?” Kurt asks, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. “Dad--”

“Told him where to find you,” Burt says. “Should be along any minute now--”

The creak of the gate sounds, and Kurt drops everything, lurching to his feet and looking toward the sound, though there’s a door in the way.

“Go,” Burt says, and Kurt happily obeys his father, sprinting to the door and bursting through it as it opens.

And there he is.

He’s got a beard, and his hair is a massive tangle of curls. He’s filthy with travel, and smells of the sea. He carries a small pack, and his clothes have surely seen better days. But he is the most beautiful thing Kurt has ever seen, and within moments, they have both flung themselves into each other’s arms, and Kurt can’t remember how they got there.

“Kurt,” Blaine half-sobs, clinging tightly to him and sounding as if he simply wants to hear Kurt’s name on his lips.

Kurt follows suit. “Blaine,” he says, and then his lips are seeking Blaine’s and find them, harsh and desperate, all teeth and lips pressed hard together.

“Missed you,” Blaine whimpers between kisses that Kurt eagerly bestows upon him. “I missed you so much, Kurt--”

“Where have you been?” Kurt asks. “I expected you months ago--”

“I was leading negotiations between my brother and Rachel,” Blaine says. “And my father--my father ousted me when he found out what I was doing, where I was going, he denied me funds--I had to--Kurt, I’m sorry, I had to take from what Rachel’s father sent along--”

“I don’t care,” Kurt says. “I’d give it all up to have you with me.”

They kiss again, until a cough sounds behind them.

“You might want to come inside, Kurt,” Burt says. “Or you’ll be the gossip of town for months.”

Kurt laughs, and takes Blaine’s hand.

“Can I--can I show you my life?”

Blaine grins. “I want to know everything.”

Kurt smiles in return. “How much time have you got?”

“Forever.”

Heat rushes to Kurt’s cheeks, and he giggles like a child, his heart freer and happier than it’s ever been.

“That _might_ be long enough, if we start now.”

Blaine squeezes his hand. “Then let’s begin.”


End file.
